


Alpha State

by crazyjane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjane/pseuds/crazyjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's in that twilight state, that moment between dream and waking ... </i>
</p><p> </p><p>The edge of sleep is where anything is permitted, anything can happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

He's in that twilight state, that moment between dream and waking, where he's not sure he's asleep, but he knows he can't be awake. He sees Dean flying across the room of that broken-down cabin, crashing into the wall, dropping to the floor. He feels the smooth wood stock of the shotgun in his hand and hears his own voice screaming his brother's name as he blasts the spirit apart with iron and salt - and he feels how the cheap motel mattress gives under his weight. He shifts his shoulders into a more comfortable position, wincing slightly at the flare of pain that threatens to wake him completely. No concussion, but he remembers the way everything tilted when he tried to stand, remembers Dean slipping his arm around his waist, helping him make it back to the car, steering him inside the motel room (Mexican theme, this one, cactus prints and sombreros on the wall, and everything this crappy shade of tortilla yellow, he swears Dean goes out of his way to find these places). Cool cotton against his bruised face, and he was already drifting as he felt Dean tugging off his boots and jeans.

There's a girl leaning over him, looking a lot like the eighth grade teacher's aide he crushed on for two months before Dad moved them on again. She gives him a smile and starts to unzip her leather jacket, and he knows he's dreaming now, because there's no way Dean would lend his jacket to anyone, no matter how hot she was. Still, he's not going to complain. Her breasts are bare beneath the leather and he can feel her heat pressed against him. He brings dream hands up to hold her, pull her head down so she's kissing down his chest, trailing her tongue down over his stomach, her lips brushing against the head of his cock ...

Light flares across his face, there's a sudden noise, and she's gone, just like that. Half-awake, he sees Dean, muttering a curse as he picks up the lamp he just knocked off the table by the bathroom door. He's strapped up his ribs (probably cracked again, maybe when he hit the wall) and has a towel slung around his hips. In the dim light filtering through the curtains (and god, whoever heard of _chilli print_ , anyway), Sam sees the weariness on his brother's face. Dead on his feet, and the mattress creaks as he simply drops, face down, asleep before his head hits the pillow. The towel rucks up under him but he's so out of it he doesn't even try to straighten pull it down. He just lies there sprawled, completely unconscious.

Sam's still hard, but the dream's not coming back. He breathes deeply, trying to get himself under control. Between the pain in his head and the sleepiness, it's not happening. If anything, he's making it worse. He turns his head gingerly to look across the room. Dean hasn't moved. Not taking his eyes from his brother's sleeping form, Sam reaches down, sliding his hand under the waistband of his boxers. He wraps his fingers around his cock, mouth falling open as he rubs his thumb across the head. 

He tries to summon back the girl as he starts to stroke himself, slowly, in time with his breathing. For a moment he thinks he's got her, as he smells leather, but it's just Dean's jacket lying by the bed where it was dropped. Still, it's a good smell, and he breathes more deeply, taking it into himself like a drug that makes his heart beat faster, and his hand tightens on his cock. He's still watching Dean's sleeping face, but the tiredness pulls his gaze downward over his brother's scarred back, glimmering white of the bandages against skin and the rough motel towel come loose now. Dean mutters and shifts in his sleep, buttocks flexing and the towel slips even more, and a sudden surge of arousal makes Sam's hips jerk. The mattress creaks under him, and he freezes, but Dean only sighs and turns on his side. 

With his free hand, Sam pushes his boxers down, freeing his cock completely. He starts rubbing himself again, faster, reaching down to cup his balls as the skin tightens there. Keeping his eyes on Dean, breath coming shallower, and his eyes drift down to see his brother's cock, hardening now as he slips deeper into dream. So that's where she went, Sam thinks stupidly, imagining the girl with her head buried in Dean's lap, her mouth opening hungrily for him, and he's gasping, sliding his hand over his cock. He can hear Dean's breathing getting faster, and, half-awake, half-asleep, it's not the girl anymore, but Sam, going on his knees by Dean's bed, reaching out to pull his hips closer to the edge. Sam's lips sliding over his brother's cock, tongue flicking over the head, tasting him. Sam's throat opening as he takes Dean into his mouth, his hands busy squeezing and pulling frantically at his own cock. Sam moaning, opening his throat and Dean's hips pushing forward so that he's completely engulfed.

Sam, aware of his body lying on the bed, the pounding in his head a strange, disorienting counterpoint to the excitement thrumming through him, his eyes locked on Dean. Sam, on his knees, mouth stretched and filled with Dean's cock, sucking hard as he thrusts his own cock into his hands, groaning as he feels Dean pushing more urgently, feels himself start to come.

On the bed across the room, Dean suddenly thrusts his hips forward and he's groaning as his cock pulses against the sheet, coming in his sleep, and Sam can't help himself, cries out, arching upwards, coming so hard he nearly blacks out, spilling over his hand, tasting, feeling, Dean, ohgod, and overwhelmed he drops down finally into sleep, _Dean _, sliding down into darkness with his brother's name on his lips.__


	2. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was dimly aware that he still had the towel around his waist, damp from the water and rucked up uncomfortably under him, but he was already sinking down into sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting this into the right set-up. Although I originally posted this as a stand-alone, it's part of the _Alpha State_ story. Sorry for any confusion.

Motel showers were perverse. They held out the promise of high-pressure hot water that would soothe away aches and pains, while washing off everything from grave dirt to demon ichor. Once you actually got under them, though, they mysteriously turned to a lukewarm dribble, leaving you shivering and unsatisfied. Mindful of this, Dean yanked aside the cheery pinata-patterned curtain and eyed the shower with deep suspicion. Opening the faucet, he watched as a surprisingly strong flow of water splashed down into the tub. He didn't trust it for a moment - but he was filthy, and every part of his body ached. "Gotta commit sometime," he muttered, dropped the towel and stepped in, bracing himself. 

A grateful sigh escaped him as the water, still blessedly hot, pounded down on his shoulders. He knew he was pushing his luck, but another quick turn of the tap produced a flow so hot that it stung. He turned around to scrape some of the dirt and cobwebs from his face and chest - and winced when the stream struck his bruised side. Probing carefully, he felt the tell-tale sponginess. Another broken rib, the fourth so far this year. Much more of this and he'd have nothing but powdery fragments there.

The business of washing took only a minute or two, but Dean stayed under the shower, propping himself against the wall to let the warmth soak some of the pain and tension from his muscles. His eyes closed. The water slid over his back, trickling down his legs. A kind of languorous pleasure began to wash through him. As he relaxed, he felt desire stirring within him, just a little. The face of the girl from the diner in the last town, Irish-pretty and with a flirtatious twist to her smile that let him know she was willing, swam into his mind. He'd have liked to get to know her a _lot_ better, but the sonofabitch they were chasing wasn't going to let him have a stopover. For a moment he entertained the idea of making a quick return visit, but he was tired now. Sleep was looking more inevitable by the second. Besides, there was Sam. It hadn't looked like a concussion, but Dean wasn't going to leave him alone for a while.

The water had finally begun to lose its heat, so he shut off the faucet and stepped out. He towelled himself dry, rubbing gingerly at the bruise on his side, then began the awkward business of strapping up his own ribs. Even without help, he managed it fairly quickly, and it wasn't a bad job. _Too much damn practice_ , he thought, a rueful grin pulling at his mouth. Exhaustion was overtaking him now. Eyes half-closed, he opened the bathroom door, headed for his bed - and crashed hip-first into the small table just inside the room. The sombrero-shade lamp toppled sideways, sending light dancing crazily over the walls. He made a dive for it, catching it in his fingers about an inch from the floor, hissing, "God _dammit_!" at the sudden shooting pain. Setting it back on the table, he made a futile attempt to straighten the shade, but as the burst of adrenalin drained away, he gave it up and just let himself fall face-down onto the bed. He was dimly aware that he still had the towel around his waist, damp from the water and rucked up uncomfortably under him, but he was already sinking down into sleep.

Cool hands slide under the towel, up over his hips. Gently, he feels himself being pulled over onto his side. Soft, slightly curled hair whispers against his thighs, and a grin spreads across his face. Looking down, he sees the diner girl, swaying her head slowly, sending the tumbled mass of her red hair brushing against his skin. Her firm hands hold him down, but he has no intention of moving at all. "Baby, I'm all yours," he drawls. Briefly, he stops to wonder why she’s wearing a sombrero on her back, before his dreaming mind pushes away the irrelevancies. What she’s doing to him is _far_ more interesting.

She blows gently on his hardening cock, making him catch his breath and push forward slightly. Feeling his pulse quicken, he watches her head dipping until her lips just touch the point where his thighs and groin come together, dropping tiny, shivering kisses on his skin, moving inwards until her mouth is moving over his cock, down to the head, where her tongue flicks out to taste him. His head falls back, eyes closing. Her lips surround him, stretching wider as she takes him slowly into her mouth. Dean moans softly, engulfed in the wet heat, and reaches down blindly to wind his hand into her hair.

His fingers slide through short, tousled hair. Puzzled, he moves his hand around to cup the back of her head. The shape is different. The thought crosses his mind that maybe there are two of them down there now, two babes there just for him, and he opens his eyes to smile his encouragement. But the Irish girl is gone, and in her place kneels someone entirely different. Tall, broad-shouldered, untidy black hair - not his type at all, but the mouth on his cock is sucking hard now, drawing him even deeper, and it feels so damned _good_. He pushes his hips forward, close to coming now, groaning, and feels an answering, muffled moan vibrating against his cock. His hand tightens in shock, because that sound, that moan, is too deep - and too familiar.

He tugs, and oh Jesus, he knows that face turning up to meet his, knows those half-closed, brilliant green eyes, knows the mouth, but not like this, not hungry for him, not wrapped _around_ him. _Oh God, oh no -_ He bucks involuntarily, and unbelievably, he feels Sam's throat opening to swallow him completely. Dean's mind screaming at him to wake up, push him off, get _out_ of this, but the feel of his brother's lips is driving him _crazy_ and he thrusts into Sam's mouth, breathing ragged and desperate, staring down at him, hating himself, hating that he can't stop. 

Somewhere, sounding distant but somehow very close, he hears Sam cry out, and even though he's never heard it before (Sam was always so quiet when he jerked off), that sound is unmistakable, the sound of Sam coming, and coming hard. It undoes him completely. A groan torn from his throat - " _Sammy_ " - and the orgasm rips through him, like nothing he's ever felt before.

He feels Sam's throat working as he swallows, and the green eyes look up to meet his again, peaceful, sated. Panting, Dean tries to speak, shake his head, something, but Sam is fading and he is falling again, chased down into sleep by his slowing heartbeat and his frantic thoughts, _it’s a dream, a dream, a dream_ , and how desperately he wants that to make it all right.


	3. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What the hell is happening to me_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many apologies for taking so long to post the next chapter. _Stuff_ got in the way - but here it is! Hope you're enjoying it so far.
> 
> ****

Even as he opened his eyes, Sam thought, _this is going to hurt_. Sure enough, the narrow stretch of daylight coming in through the curtains sent stabbing pains through his head. Groaning, he shaded his eyes with one arm.

‘Thought you was never going to wake up, Sammy,’ came Dean’s ridiculously cheerful voice from across the room. ‘Your breakfast was getting cold, so I ate it. Didn’t want it to go to waste, after all. Except that crap you call coffee. I left that for you. Whoa - careful there,’ he continued, as Sam slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘You took a hell of a whack last night. No concussion, but the bitch clocked you a good one.’

‘What? We were hunting the ghost of a rancher, weren’t we? George Keeney?’

‘You don’t remember? Maybe she did scramble your brains a bit.’

‘I remember blowing the guy apart after he went all poltergeist on you, but after that, not a lot, just falling asleep and -’ Sam’s words dried up as his aching head offered up an unbelievable image ( _on his knees, mouth stretched and filled with Dean's cock, sucking hard_ ). 

‘And what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Well anyway, while you were getting your beauty sleep, yours truly was doing research. Seems our rancher pal was the kind who liked to get fresh with the local Mexican girls, and didn’t exactly give a crap what happened to them afterwards. They tended to disappear. Except this one time he picked the wrong chick, and found out the hard way what happens to a guy who screws with a _bruja_ even after she’s dead.’

‘Wait - she was a, a, ghost witch?’

‘Looks like it. A new entry for the Hunters’ Big Book of Monsters,’ Dean beamed at the laptop screen. ‘Lots of power there - took us both to the cleaners. From what I could find out, a ghost witch collects other ghosts, and uses them to prey on people she thinks deserve to die. In this case, guys that remind her of the dude who had her killed. Lucky for us, it’s a pretty simple ritual to put her down.’

‘And I’m guessing that we have to do that at her grave? Which you haven’t found?’ Sam stood, holding on to the wall. ‘All right. Tylenol. Coffee. Shower. In that order, and I’ll get to it. You - ‘ pointing at Dean, ‘you go get some more breakfast. Try not to eat it on the way back.’

Dean scooped up his wallet and keys on the way out. Sam, in the midst of shaking three Tylenol into his palm, paused as the door closed. _Did I just imagine it, or did he not look at me even once_? The smell of leather permeated the room, and he felt his breathing speed up for a moment. 

Something felt off-kilter, and Sam was starting to think it wasn’t just the headache.

The painkillers helped. So did the coffee. The research was even better, since it gave him something to occupy his mind. Otherwise Sam kept getting flashes of something - a dream? - that he really didn’t want to think about, especially not with Dean in the room, sprawled on his bed, laughing his head off at some ridiculously overblown telenovela. Eyes on the screen, mind on the job. _It was just a stupid dream, get over it_.

‘Got it.’ The TV went silent. ‘It’s maybe three, four hours’ drive from here. According to the records, the area used to be the south-western border of Keeney’s lands. Eventually lost it over taxes, but the government never developed it. Seems the place was useless for anything but farming rocks.’

‘And hiding dead bodies,’ Dean added. ‘So let’s get moving.’

As soon as they were in the car, Dean cranked up the music. It was a tell, Dean’s way of saying _I don’t want to talk_ , and it only increased Sam’s unease. Had Dean heard something last night, something that was just too weird to even acknowledge? The thought was mortifying, and so, even though the mullet rock bass was bringing back his headache, he said nothing. He slouched in his seat, resting his head against the seat back, and shut his eyes.

A warm hand, sliding up his leg. Even through his jeans, Sam feels the light touch, moving around to the inside of his thigh. He shifts in his seat, breathing ragged, pulse coming faster. Fingers working at the button of his jeans, drawing down the zip, reaching in to cup him. A satisfied chuckle at his hardness, _that voice_ -

‘Rise and shine, Sammy boy, work to do,’ The Impala’s door creaked as Dean got out. Sam, shocked awake, stared out at a darkening sky, feeling the ache in his balls, trying to get himself under control. 

_What the hell is happening to me_?


End file.
